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When she looked up, she could see that Mandi and Stacy were already wielding cleavers and chopping the legs from their frogs’ limp bodies.

“Now the exposed bone,” said Gestard, moving purposefully from station to station. He stood behind Mandi and pointed to the hard nubs at the end of the petite amphibious legs. Mandi raised the cleaver and severed them with two clean blows.

“Good,” said Gestard, snapping his fingers. “Hard and fast.”

Marple picked up her cleaver, arranged her frog, and followed suit. Then, at Gestard’s instruction, she cleaved the two legs apart at the attachment. The two limbs sat pale and disembodied on her cutting board.

The next five minutes were a flurry of preparation—seasoning, flouring, chopping—every step supervised and critiqued by Gestard. Marple and her two classmates were now working like a disciplined brigade.

Today’s class was all the more intense because Gabrielle Desan was absent. No announcement, no explanation, and nobody dared ask. But she was missed. As stern as she was, Desan could always be counted on to deliver the right bowl, the right spoon, the right skewer, at just the right moment. She knew every inch of the kitchen, every implement, every ingredient. Without her, Gestard was forced to both teach and assist. No wonder he seemed a notch more irritable than usual.

When Margaret dropped her first frog leg into her bubbling skillet of oil, it throbbed and contracted as if still alive. She flinched.

“That tells you it’s fresh, no?” said Gestard.

“Yes, Chef!” the three students responded in unison.

While the legs sizzled, Gestard demonstrated the proper way to plate the accompaniment, a creamy truffle risotto, which he had prepared himself. With a deft flick of his spoon, he turned each serving into a photogenic hillock. Marple could feel her mouth watering at the sight.

When the frog legs were browned on both sides, Gestard showed the students how to blot them gently, then arrange them, just so, against the little piles of risotto. He moved from one to the other, checking the presentations. He tapped one of Stacy’s frog legs lightly to correct the angle. He flicked an errant fleck of parsley off Mandi’s plate. Then he bent over Margaret’s offering. He stared for a few seconds, rotating the plate with his fingers, examining it from every side. He leaned back and looked Marple straight in the eye. Then he turned away.

Marple swelled with satisfaction. From Gestard, silence was golden. For once, the master had no adjustments to make.

Gestard let the dishes cool for exactly one minute, then took a single bite from each serving.

Mandi’s was first. “Overdone,” Gestard muttered, dropping the leg back onto the plate.

Stacy’s was next. “Oily.” He spit the half-chewed bite into a napkin.

Gestard moved on to Marple’s plate, plucking one of the legs with two fingers and baring his teeth to take a nibble from the tiny thigh. He turned it in his mouth for a few seconds, then swallowed. He turned to the other two students. “Parfait.” Perfect.

Marple put her hand to her mouth and smiled to herself. This was the last lesson of the course. She was definitely leaving on a high note.

Gestard wiped his hands and walked to the other side of the prep table, his back to the massive stove. Marple and her classmates held their breath, waiting on his final words.

“The three of you have done well,” said Gestard. “You are to be commended. But I have a little news for you. The class may be over, but your lessons are not.”

Margaret’s private smile faded.

“To graduate and receive your certificate of completion,” said Gestard, “you will each prepare a final assignment. A dish of my choosing. Your assignments will be different, so you cannot compare notes. You will have two days to plan, shop, prep, and cook. The kitchen here will be at your disposal. As always, I will be the final judge.”

Marple felt a pang of panic. She’d been expecting to leave with her embossed certificate today. She’d been hoping to stick it on the refrigerator back at the lodge and let her partners know that she was fully engaged again in the business of solving crimes. But now, apparently, there was one more hurdle. She hoped Gestard would be merciful and assign her something simple. Like macarons.

Gestard reached into his pocket and pulled out three small cards. “Each of you has strengths and weaknesses, no?”

“Yes, Chef!” the students shouted back.

“I have selected your assignments accordingly. These final recipes will challenge you like nothing we have done in class, because you will not have me at your side to teach you. From here on, you must teach yourselves.”

Margaret glanced over at her two classmates. They were both pale and fidgety. Mandi seemed to be gripping her hands together behind her back to keep them from trembling.

Her card came first. Gestard flipped it to her as if throwing down a gauntlet. “For you, Croquembouche!” Mandi blanched even more. Gestard’s course had barely touched on desserts, and this was one of the most difficult to make, a complex assembly of choux pastry puffs and caramel.

“Yes, Chef!” said Mandi. Marple felt like she had just dodged a bullet.

Gestard pulled out the second card and handed it to Stacy. “For you, Lièvre à la Royale!”

“Yes, Chef!” said Stacy.